


balance me out (should i stay or should i go?)

by end_thistragedy



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Powers/Abilites, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, helped along by Stranger Things, just boys falling in love, zayn niall and perrie have abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/end_thistragedy/pseuds/end_thistragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Zayn doesn't believe in fate and chance meetings and missed connections or any of that stars aligning crap they try to sell in films. He fancies himself a bit of a realist who's got both feet planted firmly on the ground and unrealistic expectations buried under lock and key. He tries to be the straightforward, no bullshit type.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But the first time he meets Harry – he literally saves him from being hit by a car.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this is my baby that ihold so near and dear to my heart and I've been agonizing over it for months and finally! Finally here it is. 
> 
> title was originally just a Fickle Friends lyric, but then Stranger Things happened so

* * *

Zayn doesn't believe in fate and chance meetings and missed connections or any of that stars aligning crap they try to sell in films. He fancies himself a bit of a realist who's got both feet planted firmly on the ground and unrealistic expectations buried under lock and key. He tries to be the straightforward, no bullshit type.  
  
But the first time he meets Harry – he literally saves him from being hit by a car.  
  
Zayn's walking home from spending more than ten hours at Merge, the youth center where he works nearly seven days a week, when it happens.  
  
He's got his headphones in, listening to Jhene Aiko and wondering if she's his actual soulmate, and idly watching people walk by. It's only by pure fucking luck that he turns his head just in time to see this gangly boy stupidly chase after sheets of paper that must've flew out of the notebook in this hand.  
  
Zayn sees the car before the boy does and he doesn't know what to do but shout at him, but the boy—this completely oblivious idiot—is none the wiser, looking quite determined to catch his flyaways.  
  
Zayn doesn't even think. His mind is working to veer the car out of the way before he realizes it. When it rams directly into the fire hydrant, Zayn stops and stares at the mess he'd just caused, too busy selfishly freaking out over the possibility of being found out to realize the latter could have been witnessing someone's death. He feels a bit dizzy afterwards, never having used his ability to move anything heavier than his bed before, and Harry, ironically perceptive enough in this case, notices the whole thing--realizes belatedly that Zayn's shouts were directed at him at the same time he sees Zayn frown and the car hit the hydrant--and he walks up to Zayn with a look of wonder as if he can't help but be drawn to him through all the commotion. He doesn't look before he crosses the street, and this time there's no threat, but Zayn still sighs irritably because this kid must be so stupid and careless with no regard for his own safety. He literally just almost died.  
  
Zayn stares at him upon his approach until Harry smiles—dimples prominent and eyes shining—and says, "Hi."  
  
"Hi." Zayn responds, tucking his thumb underneath the strap of his bag. He doesn't think the kid plans on robbing him, but Zayn's never been one to let his guard down around gangly and goofy looking white boys.  
  
"I'm Harry." Harry offers his hand, easily, politely, like it's second nature, and Zayn blinks.  
  
"Hi, Harry." He says, and then, after a seconds hesitance spent thinking of how to get out of this conversation and fast, he settles on, "I have to go now," which, he admits, is not his strongest moment. When he turns away, he shouldn't be surprised that Harry follows him, but he is. Strangely and pleasantly.  
  
"And you're?"  
  
"Not doing this."  
  
Zayn can practically feel the frown without even seeing it decorate Harry's confusing as hell face. "Doing what?"  
  
"This."  
  
"Well why not?"  
  
"Have a nice day." Zayn tries for a stern voice, but he falls short. He just couldn't be rude to someone if it wasn't warranted. And although Harry might already irk him beyond belief, it definitely wasn't warranted.  
  
Harry doesn't let up. If anything, he tries harder to keep Zayn's pace and Zayn's patience is always on the brink of wearing thin. Moderately tall, leggy, and curly haired boys do not help. Especially ones wearing what looks like remnants of old t shirts as scarves tied around their necks and managing to pull it off.  
  
"I will, thanks, if you'd tell me your name."  
  
"It's Zayn." Zayn relents, hoping the information will make him disappear. If not, he adds, "Will you stop following me?" in case Harry doesn't get the message.  
  
"Yes." Harry says, then, like a punch to the gut, he says, "But only if you explain how you crashed that car."  
  
Zayn stops walking abruptly, unfortunately giving too much away, and Harry stops with him, a knowing smirk on his face, and Zayn wants to punch him, but then he feels really bad about it. He has a feeling many people have felt the same way.  
  
He tries for ignorance anyway. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Ok. Fair enough." Harry shrugs, and it's too easy. "But I think I should thank you. Considering you probably saved my life."  
  
"I don't—"  
  
"I get it! It's all right." Harry holds out his hands, decorated with rings, to appease him, and Zayn should really hate him. He embodies everything that Zayn hates. "Just. Thanks. I'm a bit of an idiot. I was always told to look both ways before crossing. I don't know what happened."

"You should be more careful." Zayn says, finally achieving stern, but hating himself because it originated from feeling genuine concern.  
  
"I know. I really should." Harry says, scratching his shoulder, and Zayn could swear he was blushing.  
  
He can't do this. "I have to go."  
  
"Oh. Right. Thanks again. Um." Harry stutters. And jesus. "Okay. Look—I don't know what's going on and you don't want to tell me because I'm just a strange guy, but could I make it up to you? Thank you? Like. I guess what I'm saying is: do you want to get coffee sometime?"  
  
It's Zayn's turn to blush, but that's something he will take to his grave. He's a bit softer when he says, "There's no reason to thank me."  
  
"Please. I would really like to take you out for coffee." Harry says, then, clearing his throat and looking a lot less desperate, "To thank you."  
  
Zayn answers, "Yes. All right. If you want," because if he's honest, his interest was piqued the moment he saw the idiot running across the street.  
  
Harry beams. "Great! Tomorrow? We could meet—" Harry looks up and of course they're standing in front of a café. Because that's apparently how Zayn's life works now. "Right here! Right by these beautiful potted plants. Maybe noonish?"  
  
"That sounds fine." Zayn says, clearing his mind completely, because another mishap with his emotions and his abilities would not be ideal.  
  
"Okay. So I'll see you then. I enjoyed meeting you."  
  
"You too." Zayn is focusing really hard on not letting the street light above them explode.  
  
"Tomorrow at noon. I'll buy you the largest coffee known to man. And whatever pastry you desire." Harry promises. "So um. Please show up?"  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, feeling relaxed enough to not focus on containing himself anymore. Like Harry's quite obvious insecurity has sent him soft.  
  
"I'll be here."

\--

Harry thinks he's incredible.  
  
"So are you telekinetic?"  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"You can move things and control things."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Can you hear things? Read minds? Are you clairvoyant?"  
  
"Did you do, like, research?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Zayn sighs, heavily like he's just gone through the hardest period of his life. "I don't know what I am."  
  
"Does it scare you?"  
  
"Sometimes." Zayn lifts his shoulders.  
  
"Can you control it?"  
  
"Yes. Mostly." He doesn't mention the lack of control he felt around him.  
  
"Do you wish you didn't have them?"  
  
"No." Zayn says, then, turning the tables around, "Does it scare you?"  
  
"No." Harry answers confidently without a beat, and for a moment they're staring at each other like they're trying to crawl into each other's heads and it's weird but Zayn doesn't feel weird and that makes him feel weird.  
  
He reaches up to scratch his eyebrow and Harry's book flies open just as a customer walks in and sends a gust of air through the doors. Harry startles, looks down at his book, then up at Zayn.  
  
"Was that you?" He sounds breathless and Zayn feels quite smug.  
  
He shrugs his shoulder and sips at his coffee.  
  
"Will you show me again?"  
  
This time, Zayn stares back at Harry as he makes the lights in the cafe flicker, the song playing overhead change and then the salt and pepper containers tilt over--the latter being a complete accident that he's going to take credit for anyway.  
  
Harry looks absolutely amazed. Zayn's never seen someone look at him like that. "That's incredible."  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
Harry frowns. Zayn likes his frown. He likes it a lot. "It's beautiful. It's unsettling, but it's beautiful."  
  
Zayn stays quiet.  
  
"Do you use them a lot?"  
  
"I did at first. Kind of freaked myself out." He admits, words coming out a little too easily for his taste, but he's going with it. That gut feeling. No use running from it.  
  
"Do your parents know? Your friends? Um. Girlfriend maybe?"  
  
Smooth, Zayn thinks.  
  
"I don't have any of that." He says, feeling himself go cold, locking up. There's Niall, but Zayn only sees him when he goes into Merge. He asks, sometimes, if Zayn would like to get a drink, maybe grab a bite to eat, or check out a new film, or a gig. Zayn always says no. Niall's bright, always happy, and has the ability to take people's pain away. Zayn’s moody and nerdy at best and can lift a chair in the air. "Not anymore."  
  
"Oh." Harry looks sad. Zayn doesn't like this particular frown. It feels hopeless. That's not what Zayn is. "So am I—"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"So I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything." Zayn says, just as he distractedly uses his power to bring his mug to his hand, not even thinking, and he hears Harry's soft gasp. He doesn't know if it's because of what he's said or the fact that Zayn's mug just slid across the table without him touching it.  
  
"I wouldn't do that." Harry says, quickly, and Zayn figures it's the former. Harry is rather strange. "I swear."  
  
"Thank you." He says, gratefully, but still a little wary. Harry seems a bit impulsive. Zayn did just have to save his life.  
  
"It's no problem. I just--" Harry stops, a frustrated little frown between his eyebrows that has Zayn blinking blankly, curious. "There's no one?"  
  
Zayn has to tear his eyes away from Harry’s face at that, staring down at his hands wrapped around his cooling coffee. "Not for a while."  
  
Harry seems to contemplate for a minute before picking up his phone and unlocking it with a press of his thumb, and then sliding it across the table. "Put your number in."  
  
Zayn is a bit thrown off. "Why?"  
  
"Because now you have someone." Harry's smile is goofy, but warm, and it's probably that or the fact that he's caffeinated that Zayn types his phone number in. His actual number and not the one to the disconnected landline he had over three years ago that he's been putting in people's phones for a while now. Harry looks pleased and takes his phone back, immediately typing on it. "I sent you a text so you have mine as well."  
  
"Okay." Zayn says, not moving to check.  
  
"Please don't hesitate to call. Never hesitate to call me. I'm always available to talk. I want to listen, no matter what it is or what time it is. I want to hear from you. Okay?"  
  
Zayn nods.  
  
"I like talking to you. And I know we just met, but I really don't want this to end here. So, like. Please call me? Or at least pick up or respond when I try to contact you."  
  
"All right."  
  
"Promise?" Harry offers his pinky, and Zayn wraps his own around it.  
  
"Promise."  
  
\--  
  
Harry is quite possibly the strangest person Zayn has ever met.  
  
The first text he sends Zayn is three days after their meeting and it's a picture of a fire hydrant in black and white with the caption _Yellow_ with "H" tagged on at the end. And Zayn pretends he doesn't understand that at all, sends back _do you have a text signature? like seriously?_  
  
But as he's lying in the grass in his backyard, he sends back a panoramic picture of his garden, making sure to get the potted plants he has in the frame.  
  
_the sun is out and my garden is the amazon today :)_  
  
\--  
  
"What do you do?"  
  
They've met at a park, on an afternoon where Harry isn't assisting an event planner who is actually his best friend, Nick, an unusually well-paying job he only got through nepotism, or lounging around with his other trendy wannabe friends, seemingly in a perpetual state of day drinking and walking about eating froyo or sipping on a smoothie.  
  
"A lot."  
  
"Zayn," Harry says, like he knows him well enough to reprimand him with just the sound of his name, spoken in a correctional tone. Like it hasn't only been just a few weeks. A few weeks of meeting when Zayn isn't begrudgingly answering calls and emails about a family business he claimed he would no longer apart of, accepting the offers of people who want him to dog sit, take their dogs walking, or spending his days at the youth center. A few weeks of scattered, but numerous texts and calls, with Zayn slowly getting to know Harry at two a.m. when he's coming home drunk and texting Zayn to tell him about the pretty girl with the tiger tattoo on her arm that reminded him of Zayn; when it's ten p.m. and Harry's calling him to tell him a joke that landed flat on his sister, but was sure Zayn would find funny; or when Harry's at a wedding reception he'd helped plan and admitting to Zayn he'd never get married, and then just as quickly joking that he'd maybe make an exception if he could get hitched to someone like Zayn.  
  
_you don't even know me harry  
  
I'd really really like to_  
  
"I paint." Zayn says, which isn't exactly a lie. It's a hobby, and he draws with the kids a lot. Especially the ones who use it as an outlet.  
  
Harry's lying on his back, leg popped up and hand shielding his eyes from the sun even though he has sunglasses on, when he turns his head. "I knew it." He's grinning, those dimples peeking out.  
  
Zayn's cross legged and tugging at the grass near his feet, "Your face is ridiculous."  
  
"I bet you're amazing," Harry continues, lamenting and sounding dreamy, like his voice is trapped in a crystal ball, as he returns to staring up at the sky.  
  
Zayn feels his entire body flood with syrupy warmth, blames it on the heat from the sun. "Okay."  
  
Harry brushes off his modesty and forges right ahead, "Is it just painting? Or do you draw as well?"  
  
"Both," Zayn responds, and flicks his eyes up at Harry.  
  
"Could I see sometime?" Harry asks, a hopeful and sincere tone to his voice that has Zayn nearly falling over in annoyance.  
  
If Harry were anything but brutally sincere, this, this existing near him, would be easier for Zayn.  
  
"If you want," Zayn acquiesces, fingers itching for a cigarette. It's been months since he's had one. Harry makes him want to de-stress.  
  
"I do." Harry says, unnecessarily firm, and it sounds more like a confession than anything.  
  
\--  
  
They sit facing each other crosslegged with their knees touching in the middle of the living room.  
  
Zayn's idly making his pencil can hover beside them as he finishes sketching Harry on the sketchbook he'd found half sticking out from under his sofa. He breaks a lead once in awhile and doesn't even flinch, calling for another pencil into his hand to replace it.  
  
Harry is watching him almost in a daze, hair tied up in a small bun, his jawline more prominent like this, and Zayn is shirtless, just in his trackies, and he has a persistent heat spread all through his body, telling him that this really needs to stop.  
  
"You can move, you know."  
  
"Don't wanna."  
  
Zayn flicks his eyes up and immediately back down. "Stop staring at me."  
  
"Don't think I can." Harry says.  
  
"Try harder."  
  
"Are you almost done?" He squeezes where his hands are resting on Zayn's thighs, anxious. He's got hair ties on his wrist, some ribbons, the others the plain elastic ones; chipped fingernail polish on only two fingers. "Come on."  
  
"Give me a minute."  
  
"Let me see."  
  
"I said give me a minute." Zayn sends the pencil in his hand away, it tucking itself safely back into the can. He stares at his work, at the way Harry's face lies on the paper, his penciling just off at the bridge of his nose, but not noticeably, and he makes a face. It's not the best, but he has an excuse, a distraction.  
  
And it's sitting right in front of him, chipped nail polish and all.  
  
"Why are you frowning? Let me see."  
  
Zayn hands the sketch over begrudgingly, and Harry takes it with barely contained glee. Instead of watching Harry's reaction, Zayn busies himself with ushering his pencil can to sit back on the coffee table and gathering up stray pieces of paper around them by hand. But he doesn't miss the weird noise that Harry makes, almost like a choked off gasp.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Zayn, honestly. You are an idiot."  
  
"Right." Zayn says, offended.  
  
"No! No, I mean. You're not an idiot. You're brilliant, actually. Brilliantly talented. I told you. I could sense it. This is amazing."  
  
"It could be better."  
  
"I think it's perfect." Harry counters. "Please just take the compliment. You are so stubborn."  
  
"Fine. You can keep it."  
  
"No. How vain would that be? I want you to keep it. And frame it. And put it on your bedside table so you go to bed every night with my face next to yours."  
  
Zayn snorts. "No."  
  
"I'd put a picture of you on my bedside table." Harry says, with an unfortunately endearing pout.  
  
"I know you would."  
  
"I'm serious, though. Frame this. I don't know. Put it somewhere. Just keep it. It's really good, Zayn."  
  
"I'll think about it." Zayn appeases him. "Thanks, Harry."  
  
"Hey," he says, looking at Zayn with a grin that sketches itself into Zayn's mind, "I'm your number one fan."  
  
\--  
  
There's a new kid at the center named Rhea.  
  
It's been days since he's been, longer than he usually goes without dropping in to take over someone's shift, give one of the six people who work and volunteer there a break. He's usually there every day, even when he's not being paid for it.  
  
Harry's been distracting, he admits, occupying most of his time, his space, his mind, somehow piecing himself into each and every corner of his life until it felt like Zayn was full of him, forced to breathe in just so Harry could breathe out.  
  
But he hasn't allowed him anywhere near Merge. Not exactly for his sake, but for the sake of the kids, for Niall, Perrie, and the others. It's not that he doesn't trust Harry—he might trust him more than anyone he's ever met. It's that he's not sure he's ready to grant Harry access to that part of his life just yet.

If this is all just temporary, if Harry's not who he thinks he is, or they fall apart just as easily as they fell together, Zayn doesn't think he could forgive himself for opening up such a vital and encompassing piece of him.  
  
Niall's there when he gets in, immediately standing up to greet him from where he was building Legos with Abigail, still trying to teach her how to play with toys without crushing them. It doesn't help that she has a temper and gets irate quite easily. They're all just thankful she can't set things on fire like her best friend, Michael.  
  
Niall trails behind him as he walks through the center, "There's a girl here, name's Rhea, said she's already met us."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"She said she thought she was dreaming. She didn't understand. And then she realized she was walking home."  
  
Zayn pauses, hanging his bag on one of the coat hooks, next to a SpongeBob backpack. "How old is she?"  
  
"Sixteen," Niall says, "She asked for you by name."  
  
Rhea is waiting patiently in the back office, sat with Perrie, holding hands.  
  
Rhea's hair is in braids, and there's so many of them, tied up in a bun on top of her head with a nicely patterned scarf that immediately reminds him of Harry. She's smiling at Perrie who's probably just speaking nonsense as usual, just to make the kids laugh and it's probably why she's the unspoken favorite around here. She brightens the room. Zayn thought Niall's incredible shine was bad, but it was nothing compared to the first time he met Perrie. She almost blinded him.  
  
Zayn hears Perrie before she speaks, in his mind.  
  
_She's still a bit shaken up, be careful_  
  
Zayn nods when Perrie turns her head, giving Zayn an unaffected smile. "Hey, Zayn, this is Rhea." She introduces, and Rhea turns a cautious eye on him, visibly jolting in shock when she sees him. "She's been waiting to speak to you."  
  
"Hi, babe, you okay?" Zayn rarely thinks about using his ability anymore, especially when he's within these walls. But he wishes he would've thought about moving a chair closer from the corner desk clear across the room for him to sit in.  
  
Zayn blanches as Rhea watches with wide eyes, gasping, clearly squeezing Perrie's hand for dear life.  
  
_Oh for god's sake_ , Perrie chastises.  
  
"Jesus, Zayn." Niall says, chuckling. "You gotta learn to quit scaring the newbies."  
  
"It’s okay, love," Perrie soothes her, squeezing her hand right back. "You'll get used to it."  
  
"I'm sorry," Zayn apologizes, and thinks it again for Perrie's sake, sitting in front of Rhea and smiling sheepishly.  
  
"It's okay," Rhea collects herself, "I've seen what you can do. It's just--different. In person."  
  
Zayn glances at Perrie, who looks like she's seconds away from giving Zayn a mental nudge, and Zayn hates those, hates his mind being invaded in that way. Just as much as Perrie hates doing it.  
  
_Fine_ , he thinks, and hopes she's still listening.  
  
"You asked for me. By name." Zayn starts, and Rhea nods her head, giving a silent signal to Perrie that it's all right to let her hand free now, gaining a semblance of control.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you knew to come here. You knew this is where you'd find me?"  
  
"I knew I'd find you all." She corrects, "But it was you in the dream."  
  
"I don't think it was a dream." Niall cuts in, earning an eye roll from Rhea, seemingly already aware of Niall's sometimes charmingly condescending tendencies.  
  
"I know, Niall. But I don't know what else to call it. If not a dream, what was it?"  
  
"What did you see?" Zayn asks, "We have a boy here. He sometimes has visions of things that haven't happened yet. It's called precognition."  
  
Rhea shakes her head, reaching up to tug anxiously on the end of her scarf where it's tied like a bow. "No, no. It wasn't a vision of the future. It was like...like I could sense the three of you. And then I could see you. A clear picture in my head. And then—" She pauses.  
  
"Come on, Rhe. Tell him what you told me." Perrie encourages.  
  
"And then I was you."  
  
"What do you mean?" Niall asks. “Like Harry Potter?”  
  
But Zayn suddenly gets it, feeling a slight thrill, turning his head to search for a notebook lying around. When he spots one, he waves a hand to send it to his lap. Perrie reaches behind Rhea and grabs a pencil. Zayn isn't sure if she'd gone into his mind or if she just knows him well enough by now.  
  
Rhea looks confused, hesitant, when Zayn hands her both and says, "Can you draw it for me?"  
  
\--  
  
Rhea is clairvoyant.  
  
Once she draws what she saw, the perspective, Zayn knows and, as a result, so does Perrie who makes a sound equivalent to a squeal that has one of the younger kids, Maria, materializing in the room in seconds flat, worried and frightened that something was wrong.  
  
"Aw, love, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you!" Perrie scoops her up in her arms, presumably saying something in her mind that makes the child giggle as Perrie takes her out of the room.  
  
Zayn feels excited. It's rare that abilities manifest as late as the teens. And it's rare that they're as strong and potent.  
  
He and Niall get Rhea down in the notebook Niall keeps on his phone, to make a note of all of the children and their abilities and things that they can't do, aren't allowed to interact with. They keep it simple, trying not to turn it into some kind of social experiment that exploits the children and even themselves rather than help them deal with the hand they've been dealt.  
  
Niall drives Rhea home after they've encouraged her to come back to the center whenever she can. They understand school has demands, and they understand, Zayn more than anything, that her parents might not be as on board if she ever feels comfortable telling them about her abilities. Zayn offers to be there when she tells them, knowing all too well the patience and tightly controlled anger it takes to get through the conversation.  
  
Rhea thanks them, and hugs Zayn significantly longer than Niall, like she knows something Zayn doesn't. Zayn is sure that she does.  
  
He's still confusingly buzzing when he leaves at the end of the day, feeling like he's actually done something useful for once.  
  
\--  
  
"You're strangely happy today." Harry says that same evening, sat on Zayn's couch cross legged and barefoot, gazing at Zayn through the lens of the Polaroid camera he'd found while he was snooping through Zayn's hall closet for no other reason than to be nosy.  
  
Zayn hums, swiping through pictures of the floral designs on Harry's work phone that he needed a second opinion on. They're all a bit dull, nothing standing out to him. He's confused as to why there needs to be a floral design at a corporate type of event. Zayn was under the impression that they were all bleak and minimalist, expressing no character and draining the life out of everyone in attendance.  
  
"Good day?" Harry asks, and the flash goes off on the camera, the sound of the photo developing filling the silence of the room. "You're glowing. I've never seen you like this."  
  
"Felt useful today." He admits, shrugging, and sliding Harry's phone onto the coffee table, "The black pattern looks the best. It's subtle. They're celebrating an old white guy's twenty fifth year being at the top of the ladder. Nothing special."  
  
Harry grins, raising the camera to snap another photo. "You'd be a great addition to the team, Zayn Malik, I swear it." He says, "What's got you so happy and productive?"  
  
"Kids."  
  
"Oh?" Harry pauses, shaking the newest photo out into the air. "Are you hiding something from me?"  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, "I know what you're thinking. And that's definitely not it." He says, "It's just--work was good, is all."  
  
"When are you going to tell me where you go during the day?"  
  
"Haz, you know I—"  
  
"You can't," Harry finishes his sentence, but he doesn't sound put out about it. "Are you protecting someone?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"Well," Harry says, sliding off the couch and onto the floor to lie beside Zayn. He grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together. "I'm glad it's making you happy."  
  
\--  
  
When Niall asks Zayn if he'd like to go to a happy hour after work with him and Perrie, he surprises Niall by saying yes.  
  
Since Rhea, he has been feeling productive, Harry was right to call it that, and he wants to push this bout of kinetic energy into furnishing relationships, grounding and connecting himself to reality, ushering himself into a healthier and clearer mental space he hasn't been able to properly access for years.  
  
They're at a bar called The Tavern, that takes its hybrid pirate ship/colonial era nostalgia theme seriously, sat at a three seater table slash booth combination that makes Zayn a bit wary as he scoots across the booth until Perrie can climb in after him, while Niall takes the sole bar stool.  
  
It's loud and crowded and there's a baseball game on, so the majority of the crowd is filled with white men wearing snapbacks and pastel colored shorts, in various stages of debauchery and disarray, yelling at the television screens in conjoined comradery.  
  
Zayn can barely hear himself think, kind of wants to blackout the television screens, but he's still buzzing and he can't believe it.  
  
"This is so strange," Perrie comments, and she looks as beautiful as she always does, but the light from the dangling lamp above them shines down on her curled hair, granting her a near breathtaking halo. "Not used to seeing you out like this."  
  
"I know!" Niall agrees, a grin on his face. "Fuckin' weird!"  
  
"Oh, all right, then, I'll be going now—" Zayn teases, but the two of them simultaneously reach out and grab his arms to stop him from leaving, even though they're both blocking him in on either side.  
  
"No! Sorry!" Niall says, quickly.  
  
"It's not a bad thing. Just odd, is all!" Perrie clarifies, giving Zayn's wrist a squeeze and adding, only to Zayn, _we don't mean anything by it_  
  
"It's a joke." Zayn promises.  
  
“Can never tell with you, honestly, it’s like roulette. Scares me half to death." Perrie admits.

"Should work on your delivery." Niall adds and Zayn flips him off easily, earning a laugh from the two of them, Niall throwing his straw wrapper at him.

"I reckon I'm an excellent joke teller." Zayn defends himself, thinking of Harry and the way his eyes seem to shine when Zayn teases him, when his tendency for sarcastic quips makes Harry stare at Zayn in amazement before clutching his stomach as he laughs.

"Says who?" Niall snaps him back to the present.

"What?" Zayn attempts to distract, pulling a menu closer to him and flipping through it randomly. "Have they got those mini sliders here?"

\--

It's raining and they're sat on Harry's couch watching Stranger Things in the dark, Harrys head in Zayn's lap and Zayn's hand in Harry's hair, scratching his scalp just as he likes.

Harry's watching Eleven use her mind and asking if that's how it is for Zayn, if his nose ever bled, does it ever hurt, can it--can it kill you? Is there an Upside-Down?

Zayn keeps rolling his eyes, but trying not to smile as he says, over and over, "No, Harry. I'm fine, Harry. It doesn't hurt, Harry. I've never tried to throw a person, Harry. Do you want me to throw you?"

It's as the theme song is playing when Zayn shifts slightly and asks a sated Harry, "Why do you hang out with me?"  
  
"Because you're amazing." Harry responds immediately.  
  
"No," Zayn says, frustrated, and reaches over to pause the show, "You always say that. What is it about me that keeps convincing you that I'm, like." He pauses, using a hand to toy with the ring on the other, "What keeps you coming back?"  
  
"Oh." Harry says, "Well. I think it's that. Right there."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The fact that you even have to ask."  
  
\--  
  
They're dating, Zayn realizes, after he's just opened up a snapchat from Harry and replayed it to watch the way Harry laughed, eyes nearly narrowing into slits.

It's like being bashed in the head.  
  
They're dating and Zayn's lying awake waiting up for him, so Harry can stumble into Zayn's bed and wrap his limbs around him and Zayn can finally sleep, peacefully, without rolling over and wishing someone else was there. Someone tall and leggy with a moderately long torso and a disproportionately tiny waist who will lie his head right in the crook of Zayn's neck and nuzzle sleepily like he's an actual cat.  
  
They're dating, though they haven't even kissed, and Zayn’s never gone quite this slow with anyone before.

They're dating and they're both terrible and perfect together -- falling asleep on each other constantly, mumbling half sentences, or wading in contented silence as they scroll mindlessly through their phones; exchanging terrible jokes as if competing on who can get the most annoyed but endeared eye rolls or slightly amused snorts, texting and snapping random things that pop into their minds at any given time, like filtered aesthetic photos and song lyrics, or videos of them playing with puppies they've run into on the street.

They're dating and they fit and there's nothing tragic about it. Nothing like Zayn's past relationships that were doomed from the very start: the ones that set themselves on fire just to see the way they’d burn. The ones that left Zayn feeling incredibly cheap and hopeless and exhausted down to his bones.

With Harry, this complete and utter question mark of a person, there's this tenderness between them that's almost irresistible, even when most of the time Zayn finds himself rolling his eyes, staring at him incredulously, but always ending up smiling at him with more fondness than he would like.

\--  
  
When they finally kiss, they're on the couch and Zayn is teasing Harry about the newest tattoo of a tiger on his thigh and trying to pull at the waistband of Harry's jeans to get a peek, Harry giggling in an endearing manner, holding Zayn back by his wrists as Zayn attempts to roar through his own laughs.  
  
When they kiss, Zayn makes the power go out.  
  
He's been struggling, he admits, for awhile. Ever since he met Harry, ever since he moved the car, and he replays it in his head more often than not, wondering where he went wrong, if it'd been moving the car itself or if it'd been. Well, if it'd been Harry.  
  
He feels strange around him, almost static like. Charged. It takes a lot more of himself to use his ability and it takes a lot more to control it.  
  
He remembers the streetlight flickering above their heads when they'd first met, he remembers the salt and pepper shakers falling over without him telling them to.  
  
It's the fact that his abilities work normally when Harry's not around that Zayn had let it subside, the increasing worry in his mind, and he'd completely forgotten, until Harry kisses him for the first time on his sofa at one a.m. and the lights blow out.

It's a tense three seconds before either of them react. Harry pulls back and Zayn can still see the way he stares back at Zayn, a combination of amusement and amazement swirling in his eyes.  
  
"Holy shit." Harry breathes, finally, and immediately starts to giggle again, falling back on the couch with his hands over his face. "Oh my god."  
  
Zayn is glad the lights are out because he can feel the heat flood his face, knows it's coloring his cheeks. "Shut up." He says, preventing himself from just falling off the couch and having a cry by taking advantage of Harry's position and crawling into his lap to get him to shush instead. "Stop laughing." He allows himself to beg.  
  
"Does that happen all the time? What happens when you have sex?" Harry lets Zayn take his hands away from his face, but Zayn regrets it when he sees Harry's eyebrows move suggestively.  
  
"It's never—" Zayn starts, trying to choose his words carefully, but coming up short. There's no easy way to put this, he thinks, and briefly considers opening the window and throwing himself out of it. But. No, he's so damn dramatic. No, he'll do this right. He won't keep this away from him. Not when Harry's given so much of himself to Zayn and has consistently received little in return. So he admits, "It only happens when I'm with you."  
  
Harry stops laughing, getting far too serious for Zayn's liking. He sits up and readjusts Zayn in his lap putting his arms around his waist to hold him there, like he's afraid Zayn will go running. Zayn's endeared and frustrated that Harry knows him this well. "I do that to you?"  
  
"You don't do anything." Zayn says, defensively. He knew Harry'd blame himself. Zayn knows him just as well.  
  
"That's not what it sounds like you're saying."  
  
"I don't know what I'm saying." Zayn tries to deflect, even thinks of climbing out of Harry's lap before he reminds himself Harry'd been prepared for that.  
  
"Do I affect your powers?"  
  
"No." Zayn says, meaning yes. He'll get it right one day.  
  
"Then what?"  
  
“You make me lose control." Zayn shrugs and immediately regrets it, watching Harry's face fill with an unmistakable guilt.  
  
"Like—"  
  
"Like-” Zayn speaks over him, “Like I always feel like I am in full control of them except when I’m with you and all of a sudden I’m just--not” He says eloquently, feeling himself flush deeper under Harry's gaze. “It's like--anything can happen. When I first met you I moved a car without even thinking about it. I'd never done that before. I only realized I'd done it after I saw you standing there, safe, and looking back at me. And I don't know what it means or if it's good or bad, Harry. I just know that it's something that happens."  
  
"I made you blackout your apartment." Harry says, and it's not a question, it's like he's staring at difficult passage in a novel and being encouraged into close reading each and every word.  
  
It's Zayn’s turn to frown, and he wonders if he looks as pitiful as he feels. "Please don't make it sound bad."  
  
"I make you lose control," He's grasping for something, Zayn doesn't know what. "I could--" He starts, then, resolute, like he's coming to terms with himself. "I could be the reason you end up hurting someone."  
  
Zayn reaches a hand up to wrap his fingers around a flyaway hair that's come loose of Harry's bun and tuck it behind his ear. "That could happen," He says, truthfully, a hand moving down to trace fingers over Harry's cheekbones down to his jawline where he rests his palm and tilts his head up. “But it won't.”  
  
Harry leans into the touch, almost instinctively, and presses Zayn further into his lap by the small of his back. "How do you know that?"  
  
"Because I won't let it."  
  
That's apparently the wrong thing to say because Harry near scoffs, grabbing Zayn's wrist and gently setting his hand in their laps because he's still a fucking angel when he's upset. Even when he's yelling, "You keep saying you're not in control when you're with me!".  
  
"That doesn't mean I’m not still human!" Zayn retorts, as calmly as he can, trying not to be insulted. "I'm still aware, Harry. I'm still here. I wouldn't let myself hurt anyone. I don't think I'm built that way."  
  
"What about the car?” And his voice is slightly off, a desperation there like he's begging, grasping for straws. Zayn knows Harry enough by now to know he won't be pleased until the blames been put on him. Until he can internalize the pain of a situation so no one else has to feel it. It's as frustrating as it is fucking heartbreaking. “You said--” Harry starts, and Zayn feels sad when Harry’s hand comes to rest in his hip, the other slowly trying to intertwine with the one he discarded of Zayn's in their laps, “you said you weren't thinking when you were trying to save me.” He's looking down at their hands when he says, softly, “You could have hurt someone else when you moved it."  
  
Zayn's shaking his head before Harry's even finished harping on that thought, "I was afraid, Harry, that was different."  
  
"It was still about me.” Harry’s speaking so quietly now, and Zayn nudges Harry's head up, forcing him to look at Zayn when he speaks, instead of curling into himself as the guilty thoughts consume him.

“Harry--” Zayn tries, but Harry squeezes his hand, shaking his head slightly, “You were saving me, Zayn. I made you do that. I could have been the reason someone else got hurt."  
  
Zayn recoils a bit, staring back at Harry. "Are you, like. Haz, are saying you wouldn't have wanted me to save you?"  
  
When Harry's silent for awhile, Zayn feels something tighten in his chest, doesn't need to hear what else Harry’s going to say. Doesn't particularly want to. "Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. It's better than knowing I'm the reason you lose control. It's better than being the reason you lose control.”  
  
"Harry, what--” Zayn bites his lip, trying to gather his jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences. “What do you want me to say? I don't know what you want me to do." He feels helpless, confused and disoriented. He hasn't anticipated feeling like this, disjointed and afraid that this is it. He's losing Harry before he's ever even had him.

But he can't and he won't. Not now at least. "I can learn to control it.” He's bargaining before harry's even had the chance to say something that will make him beg. Before he can walk away. “I have been. It's just. You kissed me, Harry. I haven't had much practice with controlling it like that. Not with you.”  
  
There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smirk that dances across Harry's lips before he's back to looking upset and rolling his eyes. "I know you want me to say I'll kiss you until you can learn to control it but—"  
  
"That's exactly what I want you to say."

“Stop,” Harry orders. “I'm upset. Please just let me be upset.”

“Now why would I do that when I could make you happy instead.”

“I'm serious, Zayn.”

“So am I.” Zayn snipes back, trying to keep it playful but he's running away from himself. “We just had two firsts in one night, babe, let's not make them the last.”

Harry's face softens, then he smiles in realization. “We fought.”

“We did.”

“I'm mad at you a bit, Zee, and a little sad. But we fought and I find that very exciting.”

“How exciting?” Zayn quirks an eyebrow at him, shifting forward in his lap, earning a squeeze on his hip.

“Mmm.” He hums and Zayn is already leaning down even before Harry's tilting his head up, "Can you channel it?” He asks, and Zayn really doesn't know the answer to that, but he nods anyway, and Harry looks looks appeased, “Can you maybe channel it all into turning the lights on?"  
  
“Nah,” Zayn says, pushing Harry onto his back and leaning over him, "I like them off. I'll channel it into the fan.”  
  
\--  
  
Zayn is a full grown adult, but when Harry holds his hand and kisses him, he sees stars.  
  
He'd say he's never felt anything like it (and he hasn't) but that'd be admitting something, somehow. Like breaking an unspoken promise to himself.  
  
It's as ridiculous as it is incredible: the way Harry kisses him until he's breathless, the way he wraps his arms around Zayn's neck, tilting them over as he climbs into Zayn's lap, Zayn grinning uncontrollably as his back hits the bed or the couch or the floor or even the wall; the way Harry comes easily when Zayn beckons him closer, the way he allows himself to be led, guided, with a hand on his back at the bottom of his spine, or a hand on his neck, his jaw, fingers tangled in his hair.  
  
They've become something Zayn can't explain. Something beyond words, beyond images, flashing in his mind when he's alone at night, unable to fall into the subduing embrace of sleep, beyond even what his mind can manifest. It feels consuming, it feels. Like.  
  
"It feels like infinity," Zayn speaks into the darkness of Harry's room, immediately frowning, and wishing he could reach out and take a hold of those words, pull them back, shove them deep down inside of him along with the rest of the blessedly unspoken. He hadn't meant to say that. Those clichéd words that seem artificial when said aloud, let out of the jumbled mess of syllables and letters that've been suspended in Zayn's head, trying to bind together to form a coherent thought.  
  
But then again, Harry lives for that kind of shit—those moments of vulnerability late at night when the truth slips between the cracks, when confessions pour out onto the sheets, between bodies, through lips, and painted onto skin with fingertips.  
  
He's on his side, watching Zayn carefully, Zayn can feel the solicitous heat of his gaze, and he stays still, staring at the ceiling as Harry's fingers trail along Zayn's arm, lingering over the tattoo of the lotus flower he'd gotten when he was twenty-two, signifying rebirth and new beginnings, how he'd felt when he found the Merge, a new path.  
  
"Like infinity," he repeats, near breathless, and Zayn doesn't miss the barely there trace of an infinity sign on his arm, Harry's fingers dragging over his skin softly, slowly, enchantingly. "That is so unbelievably corny, Zayn Malik." His voice is teasing, but still low, sounding enamored. "I can't believe I got to hear you say that." Zayn stays quiet, swallowing and, feeling light when Harry says, “I feel so lucky to have met you.”

\--  
  
_I miss you_ , a two a.m. text with a photo attached while Harry's nearly an hour and a half away, in a hotel room, lying on white sheets with his hair damp from the shower.  
  
_So much_ , he writes, _You’re all I think about_

_mm_ , Zayn types, and he feels wickedly happy, _that is so unbelievably corny harry styles_

\--

Harry comes back in the middle of the night and Zayn rides the elevator up to his apartment with an older couple, the two of them holding hands, the smaller of them having to tilt their head up just slightly to meet the eyes of the other. They're smiling: this private warmth radiating between the pair of them, filled to the brim with history, bubbling over with something akin to a chemical overflow.

They get off one floor before Harry and Zayn watches them move together seamlessly, bodies in sync, statically driven down their own singular path, two halves of a whole.  
  
Zayn feels that kinetic tug the moment he steps out of the elevator, guiding him down the hall, a charge shooting through him with every step towards Harry's door.

He feels it waiting patiently, buzzing in his arm when he knocks.

And when Harry opens the door, eyes bright, full of an intense electric heat to the point where Zayn thinks he can see the sparks in his eyes; that energy in Zayn ignites, a revitalizing surge setting the blood in his veins aglow, using the path to bullet straight through his body, latching onto his unsuspecting heart.

"Hey, you okay?" Harry asks, when Zayn's behind the closed door, Harry's hand coming up to rest momentarily on his cheek, thumb tracing over his jawline.

"S'all good." Zayn assures him, unable to blink away from that magnetizing gaze, arrested by the sharp green that has never been as hypnotizing as it is now.

"Mm." Harry hums, as he lets his hand fall, down, grazing over Zayn's shoulder, trailing down his arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He doesn't believe him, Zayn knows, letting Harry guide him as he turns and pads over to the lamp on the side table adjacent to the couch to switch it off.

Zayn wonders what he sees when he looks into his own eyes, wonders if he sees the sparks, or if when he touches Zayn, does he feel them rocketing through and burrowing down into the very foundation of his being?

Harry leads him to his room, where he drops his hand and walks alone over to his bed. The lights are off, but there's a dash of light coming in through the blinds, from where they're slightly open, like Harry had been too distracted to close them all the way.

It's the way the light illuminates Harry's face that hurts the most. The way it gives his eyes an almost supernatural glow, the way it highlights his profile, gives that definition to his jaw that seems to only appear when he has his hair tied up in a bun. It's down now, falling over his forehead haphazardly, getting so long it's almost ethereal; shining temptingly in the moonlight.

He looks, well.

He looks beautiful.

And when he pats the space next to him on the bed, cheeks dimpling outrageously, and says “Come lay with me,” Zayn near stumbles across the room, slipping out of his shoes, borderline levitating, and shedding layers of clothing until he's down to his shirt and pants.

\--

He starts letting Harry's name slip more, subconsciously, falling into conversations, inching into spaces he shouldn't fit.

It's Niall who finally addresses it, that elephant in the room, that glow tracing the length of Zayn’s body, the sparkling shine in his eyes, and the the scrunchy nosed laughs as he reads the screen of his phone.

It's a text from Harry that's particularly endearing that has Zayn giggling from where he's lying on his stomach on the couch in the back room and Niall throwing a pen at him and saying, with barely contained contempt, “Jesus Christ.”

Zayn reacts belatedly, swatting out at the pen that's already landed on the floor just shy of landing on his back. He distractedly sends it flying back towards the general vicinity of the desk. “Do you have something to say, Niall?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Niall folds his arms over his chest, looking at Zayn like he's been accused and found guilty of a heinous crime. “I wanna meet Harry.”

A framed photograph of the three of them that rests on top of the end table by the couch falls over just as the door swings to a close. Zayn blinks at his involuntary actions, but Niall barely flinches, only managing to look even more accusatory.

“Uhm,” Zayn stalls, dragging the sound out in a weak attempt to stall. “Why?”

“Cause if he's making you laugh this much, I figure he must be the funniest man on the whole damn planet.”

“He tells bad jokes.” Zayn says for no reason other than the fact that he really wanted to.

“Perfect. Can't wait to hear one.”

Zayn can't see a way out of this and doesn't understand why he might want to. “Okay.”

Niall’s grumpy facade fades away to excitement, a smile decorating his face and nearly blinding Zayn from its brightness. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Ni. I'll see what I can do.” He says, then, to Perrie: _you up for it?_

She must be distracted because it takes her a moment to respond. But when she does, it's a simple _anything love_ follows my a few choice words about abandoning her with the under 5s in the Mighty Tots room.

\--

"My coworkers want to meet you." Zayn says, by way of greeting, sliding into the booth across from Harry, who'd been gazing down at the menu and frowning. He's always frowning, though. He probably cannot even tell he's doing it. Frowning when he's thinking, at the screen of his laptop, the screen of his phone, of the television. Frowning at a space on Zayn's body with his eyes distant as he pulls at his bottom lip so it's looks like he's pouting.

He's looking up now, eyes wide, "Oh," he says, slowly setting the menu aside and twining his hands on top of the illuminated paper. "Uhm."

"You don't have to. It's just--they really want to meet you."

Zayn watches the shock fade away to something else, something wicked, challenging appearing in his satisfied grin. "Any particular reason that might be?"

"Shut up," Zayn pretends not to blush, thankful for the harsh dim lighting of the restaurant. "Don't look at me like that." But Harry keeps smiling, smug, and Zayn relents. "All right, I guess I talk about you a lot. They got fed up."

"Aww," Harry coos.

"I hate you so much."

"Hmm. Apparently not?" Harry manages to block the pinch Zayn aims at his bicep, grabbing his arm and circling his fingers around Zayn's wrist. "I want to meet them."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'll meet anyone you want me to. Say the word and I'll be there."

"I can tell them you're busy--" but Harry cuts him off, raising his hand up to kiss his knuckles. It's strange, not something he particularly likes, but Zayn feels a shiver rush down his spine.

"I can't wait to meet them. They'll love me."

"Hopefully."

"I'll pull out my moonwalk. Knock their socks right off."

"As long as I can do my MJ as well."

"What a pair," Harry says, tangling their fingers together on top of the table.

Zayn wants to lean forward and kiss him, but he stays put, settles for squeezing his hand instead.

\--

Niall and Harry hit it off rather quickly. Zayn shouldn't be surprised. They're two of the brightest people he's ever met.

He doesn't remember whose idea it was to go mini golfing, but he suspects it was Niall. And he suspects that's why Harry's eyes had brightened the moment he saw Niall standing at the start of the course, hugging him with such a force they almost toppled over.

Perrie and Zayn had watched them, twin looks of amusement of their faces as Niall chuckled as Harry kept saying this was the best day of his life, like going to Disney World. He's never been to Disney World, he says, but he figures it feels exactly like this.  
  
They're at the third hole and Harry's standing a little off to the side in front of Zayn, bent over like he's encouraging a child, “C’mon Zayn, you can do it. Just focus, yeah? Focus on me.”

“Don’t think that’ll help, actually, thanks.” Zayn says, grinning, lifting the club to press it into Harry's crotch, waning him off. "Shove off, you obnoxious little brat."

Harry feigns offense, mouth dropping open, bottom lip distractedly shiny, and moves pointedly away, all the way behind the miniature lighthouse Zayn is supposed to be knocking the ball into.

When Zayn takes his shot, he barely swings his club and the ball rolls steadily straight into the hole.

Harry promptly throws his hands up in the air. "Foul! No cheating!"

Niall cackles obnoxiously, "Have you been doing that the whole time?" and throws his green ball at Zayn's head and Zayn waves a dismissive hand, sending it flying towards the lighthouse where it circles around the entrance before sinking in.

"Zayn," Harry whines, "Stop it."

"Never said I couldn't." Zayn grins, walking goofily over to manually pick up the balls.

"Boys," Perrie warns, from where she's clearly Snapchatting herself, making faces at the screen of her phone, "play nice," she says, _and stop being a cocky shit, malik._

Zayn responds by making the golf balls circle in the air around them, sending one straight towards Niall's butt that has him jumping exaggeratedly to duck behind Harry and one towards Perrie who squeaks and drops her phone trying to bat it away.

Harry's rolling his eyes at the scene, hands on his hips as he watches Zayn with a lip bitten smile, "Show off."

"What?" He asks, innocently, the necklace chain around Harry's neck bouncing up and down, which Harry ignores dutifully in favor of crossing his arms over his chest and staring Zayn down.

"You're a menace to society, Zayn Malik," He's smiling, dimples deep, "Someone should keep an eye on you."

"You offering?" Zayn says, the necklace around Harry's neck pulling just enough to get his feet moving closer, helpless against the tug, guiding him to meet Zayn in the middle of the Hole 3 where Zayn can reach and slip his fingers in the space between Harry's obnoxiously tight jeans and his hip and pull him even closer. "You wanna be my protector, huh? You want to be home base?"

Niall's making a booing sound over Harry's shoulder, accompanied with an exaggerated thumbs down and Perrie's saying, "Oh god," somewhere behind him and Zayn can feel the intensity of her eyeroll but he doesn't care.

Well, he does and that's why he sends Niall's club swinging right into his forehead and lifts Perrie right up off the ground to where she's hovering just so above the patch of grass she'd been standing in to pout with her legs and arms crossed in midair.

Harry stares at what he's done, shaking his head slightly before turning on Zayn and saying, "They're lovely and you're terrible and I think I'm in love with you just a bit."

Niall's golf club stops chasing after him and Perrie falls to the ground with a grump.

"Oh," Zayn reddens, "Right."

And Zayn, well. He's grown to believe in fate and chance meets and missed connections and all of that Stars aligning crap they sell in films. He's a romantic idealist and sometimes it's hard to keep both feet planted firmly on the ground, to keep all those unrealistic expectations buried under lock and key. And regardless, he still tries to be the straightforward, no bullshit type.

So he'll be damned if he didn't believe he wasn't head-over-heels in love with Harry Styles.


	2. deleted scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loved this universe and i found like a chunk that i didn't end up posting at first, but here it is!

It's a freak accident. And Zayn thinks he should've seen it coming, considering how the two of them met.  
  
The mistake was actually letting a distracted Harry swing a golf club.  
  
And maybe Zayn shouldn't have been teasing him, suddenly energized by being freshly loved up and feeling invincible because of it. He'd been whispering corny shit that he'd never want anyone to overhear into Harry's ear and trying to distract him by biting at his earlobes when it happened.  
  
Harry swung his club and it collided with the obnoxiously neon green ball unnaturally hard, sending it flying across the course and into the windmill, ricocheting off of the wood and coming straight back and into Harry's head.  
  
It happens so fast, Zayn hadn't had time to stop it, helpless as he just watches as Harry goes down with a strangled noise.  
  
Zayn doesn't even breathe when he runs to kneel at his side, only realizing once he's on his knees and breathing out heavily, resting Harry's head on his lap and pushing his hair away from his forehead.  
  
"Shit, Haz. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t--are you all right?"  
  
Harry groans, but it sounds like it's more in embarrassment and says, “Well I can't say I'm doing okay emotionally,” and when Niall laughs, Harry actually looks delighted, chuffed, at the sound, but still too injured to latch onto it. “Quite a bit of a headache, though.”  
  
“He could have a concussion,” Perrie suggests, looking remorsefully down at Harry like it’d been her fault. “Hit him pretty hard.”  
  
Zayn cringes as the scene replays in his head and he can’t help but think about if he hadn’t been able to save Harry when they met. Would he be sitting just like this, guilt overtaking him as a broken boy lay in his arms with injuries far worse?  
  
Zayn knows Perrie’s coming before he hears her voice in his head, _Relax, Zayn_  
  
But Zayn is stubborn and pretends he doesn’t hear her. “How bad is it, Harry? Tell the truth. I know you like to act tough.” He runs his thumb across Harry’s forehead, stroking down to his jaw, tilting his head up, “Babe. C’mon. Talk to me.”  
  
“I’m good, I’m good,” Harry assures the three of them, but Zayn glances at Perrie anyway, asks, _is he lying?_  
  
_Yes_ , she responds, and her laugh feels strange in his head, almost disorienting, _but he’d really like it if you’d kiss it better_  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, dipping down to kiss Harry on his temple, “You’re lying to me, you insufferable idiot.”  
  
“Charming,” Perrie says, giving Zayn a reprimanding kick.  
  
“I could—” Niall interrupts before they start bickering, raising his hand, offering, and Zayn’s eyes widen, panic rising, and he reaches out to grab Niall’s wrist, holding him back, “I haven’t actually. Um.”  
  
“He doesn’t know?” Perrie asks, her tone incredulous, immediately reading his mind for confirmation. “ _Zayn Malik_.”  
  
He honestly hadn't thought this would come up so soon. Not the first time they would all meet. And, if he’s honest, he selfishly kind of liked being the only one Harry thought was special.  
  
“I don’t know what?” Harry looks alarmed, a hand coming up to rest on his forehead, “it's throbbing. But does it look that bad? I don’t like hospitals.”  
  
“It looks fine,” Zayn says, dismissively, staring Perrie down, daring her to make a scene and ignoring the name-calling he receives in return. She could be unrelenting sometimes.  
  
_And you can be a prat!_  
  
They must have been staring at each other too long because Harry sits up, always impatient, and starts to laugh. They all turn towards him, similar frowns on their faces.  
  
Zayn’s never heard him sound like that. “Why are you laughing,” He wonders, worried the hit might have knocked something a bit loose. He’s already odd.  
  
Harry’s still giggling when he says, “It’s just--you can cut the tension with a knife.” And Zayn gets it -- it’s that laugh Niall does when there’s too much stress in the room. Or when he doesn’t know what’s going on.  
  
But something seems to dawn on Harry then, realization so clearly etched onto his ridiculous features, “Wait,” he says, laughter coming to an abrupt halt as he reaches out to grab a hold of Zayn’s hand. “Is this--” He stops, glancing at Niall and Perrie in turn. They’re looking at him like he’s lost his mind. And honestly, Zayn can relate. “Is this about where you all go during the day?” He asks, “Is this about the things you all can do?”  
  
There's a strand of hair falling into Harry's forehead and Zayn pushes it up and out of the way, bringing his hand down to turn Harry's head so he's facing him instead of the others and Zayn can meet his curious gaze. It’s always striking, looking into those eyes. “What do you know about what they can do, Harry?”  
  
“I'm not stupid, Zayn. And they're not very discrete.” Harry admits, shyly, like he's insulting them but he feels very bad about it. Zayn wants to roll his eyes at how maddeningly endearing he is. Even with the sight of a clear bruise forming on his forehead. “You,” he nods at Perrie, who places a hand to her chest, “They make faces at you a lot. Like they're reacting to you. But you don't make them back. And sometimes you don't even speak.” Harry explains, “And you,” He looks at Niall and smiles almost mischievously, and it’s a particularly effective one that has Zayn smiling at him like a doting idiot and poking the dimple in his cheek. Harry's swatting Zayn away with a laugh, saying, “Honestly, I saw you make that wilted flower bloom earlier and didn't want to disturb the two of you. I thought it was sweet.”  
  
“He thought it was sweet,” Niall repeats, shaking his head almost dumbfounded. “He thought it was sweet, Zayn.”  
  
“Yeah, I heard him. He's a bit corny. You just get used to it.”  
  
“Hey,” Harry pouts, dragging out the word in that way of his that makes Zayn wish it was harder to be in love with him. “Can you talk to them? The plants? Do they talk back?”  
  
“No,” Niall laughs, “but I can heal them. I can heal anything, really. Can take pain away. Emotional or physical.”  
  
“That's amazing. Isn't that amazing, Zayn?” Harry asks, and Zayn entertains him, squeezing his hand in encouragement. “And Perrie. You can get inside my head?”  
  
She must give him a demonstration because Harry's eyes go wide and his face lights up and Zayn really can't believe how lucky he is to be able to kiss that face.  
  
“You're the most incredible people I've ever met. You're like superheroes.” He brands them, proudly.  
  
Niall is particularly pleased, as if he and Zayn hadn’t spent afternoons drawing themselves carrying people out of burning buildings, “Reckon I'd be a pretty badass superhero,” He says, going directly into a classic Superman pose and getting an encouraging nod from Perrie who adds, “And I look _really_ good in spandex.” Zayn thinks of Halloween two years ago and agrees with her immediately.  
  
“And I could be your guy in the chair!” Harry says, inserting himself into the fantasy, “Your tech support. The one waiting in the van or in the secret lair, guiding you through missions.”  
  
“Think we're a bit too clumsy to be superheroes.” Zayn says, but he's pumped at the idea, picturing their suits in his head, a rose gold for Perrie, a dark green for Niall, Deadpool red for him. He's envisioning Harry in front of a computer, suddenly having hacking abilities, babbling in Zayn’s ear about what he's cooking for dinner as Zayn spins a thief in the air. He’s seeing Perrie convince a jumper not to fall to their death from a 12 story building, and watching Niall heal injuries from a car crash. “You watch too many movies.” He says, anyway, like he’s not the biggest nerd of them all.  
  
“He's eating this up inside,” Perrie snitches, “Thinks we’d be friendly neighborhood superheroes.”  
  
“Cheers, Pez,” Zayn thanks Perrie, rolling his eyes.  
  
“I guess that's not your story, is it? You've already got one.” Harry says, folding his and Zayn’s hand in his lap. “It's the kids, yeah? The ones Zayn talks about? They're your story.”  
  
Zayn doesn’t bother to correct him. Harry’s already connected all the dots. “Yeah, babe. They're our story.” He says. “But you can be apart of it now. If you want to be.”  
  
“Main character and everything.” Niall promises..  
  
“Yes,” Harry says without thinking. “Please let me be in your story.”  
  
And as Zayn smiles at his best friends and the boy who is probably the love of his life,  he thinks it can be a pretty damn good one.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still screaming! :)


End file.
